


DADDY

by Laywithmeart



Category: The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Daddy Issues, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laywithmeart/pseuds/Laywithmeart
Summary: A tale about Stella Gibson's past.Stella finds her father in another man.*I borrowed the name ‘Matt Eastwood’ and 'Dani Ferrington’ from the series The Fall, but these aren’t exactly the same characters, mostly just the name!





	1. ‘Source Of My Shame’

Loving; the longing of one’s touch, one’s scent, a voice… his voice. She could love, she definitely possessed the ability, but all her love was locked away. Taken and captured by him a long time ago and despite her initial efforts to break free and fight to prove the contrary, it remained his to this day. Her mind lost the battle against her heart and she finally accepted that she was keeping it all for that one single person, he who she had lost.

 

Her fathers’ hands had come to rest on places she would now only touch herself. An insatiable need for total control had shadowed over her day to day life since that fateful night. His eyes had closed permanently within the same year she had come to realize the true meaning of that abusive event. Although she could never reveal it, could never lay herself bare to anybody like a lover does, for he was equally the source of her shame, she loves him. Now, even after the disapprovement and swift dismissal of her mother, it was her who had remained strong, remained in the world of the living. Alive, but alone.

 

As she slowly opened her eyes, she found the, bordering on painful, bright fluorescent light in the waiting room blinding and blurring her sight a little.

 

“Stella,” A red-haired woman called out while walking up to her with a hand reaching out to firmly grip hers for only seconds. The woman’s skin was as warm and soft as the gracious smile she wore, offering a genuine and friendly welcome. Her skirt, the length of which conservative, was tight around her hips and Stella saw it hiking up a little with every step Dr. Ferrington took as she walked in front of her, leading Stella towards her office. She wasn’t her type, too careful and correct in ways that made for a sometimes bloody annoying goody two shoes, but Stella still wondered how wet the skin between her legs would be if she were to lightly run her fingers up there.

 

She had only recently begun to admit to Dr. Ferrington how sex was becoming a very, and often too frequent, active part of her day. Although Stella wasn’t one to shy away from these kinds of subjects, details about her sex life hadn’t been easy to confess to the practical saint sitting across her. The fact that the amount of lust that consumed her was intertwined and a to be expected result of her quest, made it so that she felt it was necessary to mention it. It was, after all, the whole reason why she was sitting there in the first place.

 

The sessions were helpful to her, although not to a degree that Stella had hoped for. She had found herself feeling even more troubled with the double, paradoxical, sensation of shame that came up when talking about the 'why’ of such sexual details when, in other circumstances, she’d be the most open-minded person she knew.

 

Talking about what she was actually looking for, making it concrete, describing her 'quest’ for what it was this time: a search for a resemblance of her father in other men and women, a hunt for a remembrance of love and safety, definitely wasn’t easy for her and much to her relief, Dr. Ferrington made no indications whatsoever that she expected it to be.

 

The moment she stepped out of the slightly dim lit room, leaving her psychologist with raging mixed feelings, understandable as the hour entailed many more confronting questions, she saw him again.

 

The tall and handsome man with hands big enough to cover each of her ass cheeks. Dr. Eastwood walked along with one of his patients, guiding him towards his own office, and Stella couldn’t help but slow down the pace in which she walked, hoping they might finally share a moment of eye contact.

 

While completely aware of the conflicting situation, her destructive imagination ran wild against the nature of her current environment where she was supposed to aim for healing, she couldn’t help but think: Look at me, see me. The way I can see his beauty in you.

 

XXX

 

Oblivious to the fact that he had caught her eye, causing Stella to get increasingly frustrated, nothing changed in the past two months. Nothing worthy of her delicious spontaneous chuckle had crossed her path. Stella felt as though she was simply reaching for a deep black haze in which she might just disappear forever. She didn’t even know if she would mind it if that were to happen.

 

Her 24th birthday passed by without a single sincere “congratulations”, only advances of previous lovers presented themselves to her; Handing over shitty presents wrapped up in small gift boxes, hoping it would get them some.

 

Drowning her increasing loneliness with a burgundy mass engulfed by glass was now an activity she took part in four to five nights a week. Scanning the bar over the rim, she was looking for somebody to spark her interest. She didn’t want to be alone, she needed the sweetness of a pair of lips melting against her own, the warm wetness of a tongue sliding against hers and hot breath on her skin; Just like she had needed it on all the other nights of the week, she needed it now. She knew it would just be another short-term solution, just as lonely in the end, but at least it wasn’t as cold or aggressive as the self-destructive solution of watching her own deep creations flowing soothing warm blood down her legs. This wouldn’t result in another everlasting scar; not a physical one anyway.

 

As she turned around on the bar stool to wave off a pair of boys, barely of age and obviously desperate to get into her panties later that night, hoping to get a go at fucking her while drunkenly unaware of their inattentive inexperience and lack of stamina, a posture caught her attention. It were the arms, draped across the table in a reposing and defeated state, that took her mind right back to some of the blissful moments of her childhood; That reminded her of the nights she had snuck out of bed when she was still so little, wearing her soft pink pyjamas with either unicorns or butterflies printed on them, and found her dad hunched over his desk in that exact same manner. Any time she had walked over to him back then, he had always been able to magically and instantly transform into the cheerful, praising and loving father she knew and trusted; The father who told her never to worry, that he was simply tired but nevertheless so happy and lucky to have her as his daughter.

 

Stella quietly observed the man seated at the small table behind her, ignoring the grunts of disappointment coming from the immature young men who were apparently unable to handle her refusal when they noticed she was directing her attention to somebody they presumably thought they could easily out-fuck. The man’s head was tilted downwards and she could see a band of white that probably hadn’t been sun-kissed in about fifteen years where a wedding ring must have adorned the finger once upon a time. Holding a scotch in clear sight, she could see he had strong big hands, hands that could cup her ass completely and lift her up, hands like her fathers’, hands that she suddenly realized she had seen before.


	2. 'Opportunity For The Wise'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella finally gets a chance to talk to the man that reminds her of her father.

_It can’t be him, right? He wouldn’t come to a student-bar like this to get a drink, would he?_ She thought.

 

The man lifted his head slightly and Stella immediately felt a warm rush spread across her chest as she had actually recognized him correctly.

 

It was that same look in his eyes, that same nose, those same kinds of shirts he wore that made her long for him. All these things she had noticed so many times before, but during moments that had been fleeting and lacking in opportunity to approach him.

 

Dr. Ferrington had told her it wouldn’t be wise to have an older male, especially when in a position of authority, to treat her. Even as Stella pressed the fact that such an arrangement might be a confrontation she needed due to her stubborn character, she was told it simply wouldn't be suitable. She wondered often if her true reasoning behind the suggestion had shone through a bit; if it did, she would definitely have to work on those traitorous aspects of her expression if she wanted to become a successful detective.

 

As the words of her shrink faded, she suddenly realized she had left her seat; feeling so incredibly drawn to him, she didn’t even notice she was walking towards his table until she was already halfway there.

 

Stella knew if she wanted to sit near him, speak to him, it would have to come from her anyway. Approaching a patient is against protocol, even if the person isn’t technically your patient. This is what she was told when the rules were explained to her before her treatment had started. If she was honest, part of her hoped that Dr. Ferrington hinted at wanting something more from her than just a greeting approach as that would be so much simpler than telling the tale of her troubled childhood; fucking her psychologist, now _that_ she would have been able to handle easily.

 

As she filled the seat beside him and greeted him casually, she found that he even shared the same, slightly crooked, smile her father used to possess. Much to her surprise, he seemed to recognize her. She turned towards him, leaning onto the table on one elbow and draping her right leg over her left, showing off her lean swimmers legs.

 

“If I may ask, what is your first name, Dr. Eastwood?” Stella asked.

 

He smiled obscurely, a smile she took as a mere token of politeness. “It’s Matt” he responded.

 

“May I call you Matt?"

 

"If that is more comfortable for you than referring to me as Dr. Eastwood.”

 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Stella smiled.

 

“Some people prefer to keep a respectable amount of distance between their regular lives and the place, and especially the people, they share their personal problems with."

 

"But I haven’t shared my personal struggles with you, Matt.”

 

“True, but considering the fact that you recognize me from what is hopefully a safe place for you, it could change your view of a therapist when seeing them in public places… like this bar for instance. So, it’s therefore reasonable if patients feel more comfortable with calling me by my last name.”

 

“It might be more comfortable for me if you would stop referring to me as a patient.” Stella gave him a broad smile.

 

Stella could see how he was trying hard not to look at her, stopping himself from glancing at her body; avoiding the swell of her breasts in particular since she was leaning toward him to the point that made for a spectacular view. She hoped he found her attractive, hoped he felt the thrill of possibly overstepping a boundary in the near future as much as she did.

 

“Stella.” she said while offering her hand to him. He shook it with a moment of hesitation, obviously trying to remain professional considering the situation.

 

She was aware that the expression on her face betrayed that she was quite satisfied with her sharp comeback, which he couldn’t possibly have discarded if he was trying to stay polite. The amusement displayed even more when she changed her position in a very daring manner, entering his space to a small extent, but enough for him to finally sneak a peek at her cleavage.

 

“Why are you here, in this bar, Matt?” Stella asked with an intense gaze, uncovering a yearning of sorts.

 

He stayed silent while shifting uncomfortably in his seat as she kept staring directly into his eyes; they reflected a certain sadness. Stella knew this look, having seen it across the face of the one she longed to hug forever, the look that was expressed on late nights in a home office.

 

She tried to get him to look at her again when Matt started to drift off, staring into a dark endless space where he seemed to be riddled with thoughts. Putting a hand on his knee did the trick. He turned his head swiftly to look at her with a hint of shock written on his face. Despite how badly she wanted to reach out and caress that face, Stella managed to suppress the desire and slowly withdrew her hand without breaking eye contact.

 

Matt sighed, “I just wanted to get a drink. Clear the head after a long day.” He said it with such incredibility, not a trace of conviction detectable in his voice, that she knew even he would have been surprised if she bought the lie.

 

“Right…” Stella replied. “Matt, I am not a person who judges easily. I’ve had my fair share of crap to put up with early in life and you, as a psychologist, should know it’s good to talk to somebody about what’s on your mind. I am here, I'm willing to listen."

 

"Honestly, I do not think it is appropriate for me to talk about this with you. Next to the authority issue, it might temper with your well being.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You should not start to feel the need to solve another person’s problems, in this case, my problem when you should be focused solely on your own.”

 

“I don’t,” Stella said bluntly. “I don’t feel that need. I probably couldn’t solve it even if I wanted to.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“And although I understand the authority issue," Stella continued "I suspect you have no one else to talk about it with right now. You wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise; in a bar, drinking among students…”

 

“Touché,” Matt said, the corner of his mouth curled up. “Are you always this frank?”

 

“Always.”

 

Matt chuckled softly before returning to his drink, letting a moment of silence take over the conversation while he seemed to be contemplating the offer.

 

“Well? Take it away, Matt. Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

Matt shifted in his seat again, cleared his throat and pinched the flesh on the upper part of his nose. She could tell he found himself in a state of turmoil, clearly wanting to share the weight of whatever was troubling him, but the knowledge of possible regret right after such an unethical move made him tense, yet he was strangely calm. Stella hoped that the latter was due to her ability to make people feel heard, even when they hadn't actually shared anything yet. Some had mentioned afterward how they felt a tad hypnotized, both by her beauty and quick wit. Wanting Matt to feel the same way, she put a hand on his arm, reassuring him that she was still there and that it was ok. Probably against his better judgment, Matt took a deep breath and started talking.

 

“I’m getting divorced.” The sigh that followed seemed to come from his toes, rushing through his body. An invisible weight being carried alone for far too long that now finally found it’s exit. “My wife wants a divorce, she’s leaving me.”

 

Stella noticed how he took the wedding ring between his thumb and index finger, slightly twisting it back and forth in a sad and obsessive manner. She observed his body language, his facial expression, anything that would indicate how to best respond to him now that he had opened up to her.

 

“Marriage isn’t for everyone.”

 

“Hmmhmm.” He mumbled in agreement.

 

“So, which one of you fucked up? Or fucked up first?”

 

“I did,” Matt said quietly. “I’ve come to realize, now that she’s finally told me, that I haven’t been paying enough attention.”

 

“Didn’t pay enough attention to what?”

 

“She was ill. I didn’t know.”

 

“How could you have known if she didn’t tell you?"

 

"I should have seen it. Looking back now, it’s very clear that I could have easily known something was wrong if I'd only-” Matt drew in a sharp breath. "I can't blame her for what she did after that time.“

 

"Did she... cheat?”

 

Matt cleared his throat again, this time weakly and defeated. “Yes.”

 

A small flicker of anger flashed across his pupils before sadness returned and washed over his face. Stella knew not to press matters further, letting the continuation of his sharing up to him. She stared down at the swig of wine in her glass before throwing her head back with the rim attached to her lower lip, letting the amount slide down her throat.

 

“I’m getting another, would you like another drink, Matt?” He emptied the glass he was holding and nodded.


	3. 'Be Heavy My Breath'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first time.

Glass after glass had been placed in front of them and emptied far too quickly. Any notion of inappropriateness had evaporated from his mind into the cigarette smoke-filled air. A handful of students had come in a while ago with a particular amount of noise, asking for the music to be turned up and in turn influenced Matt to relax even more in his intoxicated state.

 

As Stella had emptied her 3rd glass, she confessed her weakness for Dr. Ferringtons glorious behind in tight skirts and Matt hadn't been able to keep himself from laughing out loud, knowing he would be distracted by this bit of information when he would see his colleague at work again. He in return told Stella an extremely embarrassing story from his uni days, causing Stella to burst out into laughter, something that he could tell rarely happened to her.

 

The two were still chuckling when a drop of wine found an exit out the corner of Stella’s mouth, marking it’s path downwards with a deep red, blood-like resemblance. Matt stared at the sight of it for a moment too long and tried but couldn’t control the movement his arm was starting to make. He carefully lifted the droplet, letting it rest on his fingertip and positioned it right in front of Stella’s plump lips. She looked him dead in the eye, let her lips part, dragging her tongue out before enveloping and sucking on his entire finger in one slow motion. Their locked eyes stared at each other until she broke the silence.

 

“I want to dance," Stella said.

 

"Excuse me?” Matt's eyebrows shot up in surprise, almost spitting out his drink.

 

He shook his head, but Stella wasn't taking no for an answer. “You heard me. Come on! Physical activity helps when you feel down remember.”

 

“I can’t dance for shit, Stella”

 

“But I can. Don’t you want to see me dance?” She teased as she winked at him wickedly.

 

She, somehow still quite gracefully, slid off the bar stool and took his hand in hers. He could now feel her dried cold saliva on his finger more intensely with the contrast of her warm skin. Stella led the way to the back of the bar where some students had been dancing since their arrival. He was surprised that it didn’t take her long to get him to join her in the dance-spirit. He sported some old dance moves, the execution of which apparently hilarious to her. She briefly let a boy around her age spin her around, the same kid that had been eyeing her from the moment he and his friends walked in, but despite his hormonal-ridden efforts to sway her by riding up against her she made it very clear that she was not interested in his offer. She shook her head and pushed him away a little harder when he tried to dance behind her again. The kid clearly wasn’t a little boy, but a boy in his manners nonetheless. He found it strange that he sensed relieve in himself for the fact that Stella wasn’t attracted to the kid. Matt could see how Stella shamelessly started to eye his physique and he found himself wondering if she'd ever had a lover with the type of body he possessed. Aware that he wasn’t a mass of bulging muscles, he did think of himself as fit; not in a six pack kind of way, but he was in shape for his age. He had inherited his strong build from his father and felt that he carried himself well... except on the dancefloor.

 

He started to tense up a little, suddenly realizing she was turning him on in a way that would become _very_ inappropriate if this continued. It was ok to wonder, to fantasize even, that's human nature, but anything beyond that point would be very inappropriate. The situation as it was had so quickly become improper concerning his position and he really didn't want to face the unavoidable consequences. As if Stella sensed his contemplation to leave, she stepped dangerously close to him, looked him in the eye and waited for his last ditching efforts to crumble.

 

"Maybe I ought to go home," He said. "I don't wish to cross another- A more _serious_ boundary."

 

"Oeh, I'm intrigued," Stella responded while slowly sliding her hands up his arms. "Do tell me what exact boundary you mean."

 

As if that husky voice of hers, that soft touch and that captivating stare wasn't enough to sway him, well-known energetic 80’s hits made way for more sensual tunes right at that moment, gracing the ears of London’s drunkest citizens. It didn't take long before George Michael’s _I Want Your Sex_ came on and Stella slowly turned around, placed the back of her head against his chest and captured his hands in hers. She started to roll her hips against his groin and he, for the life of him, tried to blame the growing ache there on the alcohol, but when she spread her legs a little further apart and continuing her circle movements to drop effortlessly low towards the floor, it was all over; there was no more denying left in him.

 

His dick twitched in his trousers as he realized what spectacular move she planned to execute next. In an agonizingly slow tempo, she ascended again, hips first, grinding her ass roughly against his growing erection. Despite himself, he hoped she could feel the size of him, hoped she liked what she was able to discern from the move. He was also a little annoyed at himself for being unable to just turn around and leave, to not be the asshole that might just be abusing this gorgeous, troubled, young woman's perfectly poised and straightforward seduction tactics.  
He must have stood there somewhat dumbfounded for a while because when Stella faced him again, putting his hands on her ass as she proceeded with the figure-8 pattern she was making with her hips against his, she was seeking approval in his eyes. Again, despite himself, he couldn't back away, didn’t so much as flinch. They shared a heated gaze and he realized he was going to find himself in a world of trouble, no scratch that, he was going to be in _deep shit_ if anyone were to find out.

 

XXX

 

Within seconds of stepping into her home, Stella had grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him against her. He almost forgot to close the front door behind him when she started to kiss him, plunging her tongue into his mouth so deep and rough that he finally understood what the saying 'weak in the knees' really meant. She pulled his hands down, settling them on her ass like she had in the bar and this time he squeezed with intent, reveling in the feel of his hands covering each cheek precisely.

 

She started to feel him through his trousers and he suddenly felt the need to know for certain that Stella really wanted what they were about to do.

 

“Stella. Are... Are you sure about this?”, he managed to ask in between passionate kisses and his own low groaning.

 

“Shh. Yes, I want to.” Stella whispered.

 

“Stella, we don't have to if-”

 

Stella yanked his head back by his hair. “I’m not as naive as my peers. I know what I want.”

 

“But-”

 

“Shut up, Matt.” She said before covering his mouth with hers again.

 

He lifted her up and Stella hooked her legs around his waist as he walked them to the large wooden dining table in the middle of the room. He shoved everything on it to the side with one arm and placed her on the edge. His hands roamed all over her body; they knead her breast, squeezed her upper thighs, felt the curve of her waist, and went back up to her nipples that he could feel harden under his touch. He unbuttoned her pants, slid the zipper of her fly down, and cupped her completely. She was so ready, absolutely soaked with hot, wet arousal, that he shamefully felt pride swell up in his chest for having caused this.

 

“Fuck, Stella. You are- Oh my god,” he couldn't help but say out loud and she hummed her agreement while taking off his belt. As he tasted the wine on her tongue again, she unfastened the button and fly on his trousers and let it slide down his thighs along with his boxer shorts. He left them hanging around his ankles as he was way too filled with want to take the time to untie his shoelaces and kick his shoes off.

 

Matt grabbed the waistband of her pants and yanked it down her legs before Stella raised her arms so he could pull her shirt off of her as well. He reached for her breasts, lowered the cups of her bra and grazed a nipple between his teeth. Matt could hear her gasp so he did it again before he sucked on her other nipple as she unbuttoned his shirt. Stella pulled it down by the collar until it fell off his shoulders and he jerked his arms free to be able to touch properly her again. He pushed her back so she was laying flat on the table in front of him and then knelt down, dragging his hands down her ribcage and caressed her inner thighs. She spread her legs a little wider and he nudged her panties to the side before running the flat of his tongue through her folds. He started to hum, relishing her taste, circling her clit with his tongue very, very, slowly.

 

"Faster," Stella breathed.

 

"Uhuh. That may be how other men did this for you, but you should feel _this_."

 

He continued his agonizingly slow pace but pressed a little harder against her clit until Stella started to tremble. He could feel how she tried to hold still, but when he slid two fingers into her tight pussy and curled them into a perfect ‘C’, Stella started to pant erratically. The effort to hold back proved to be too difficult when Matt took her clit between his lips and started sucking on it mercilessly.

 

“Oh. My. God!” Stella moaned.

 

He stroked her quivering abdomen before sliding her panties down her legs. She didn't take the time to fully recover from the hight, tugging on his hair with enough force that he couldn’t mistake the gist: she wanted him inside of her, now. He kissed and licked his way up, circled her waist with his arms and pulled her back up against him. She moaned at the taste of herself on his lips and tongue in a searing kiss right before he slid inside her in one fast motion.

 

“Oh, Stella!” Matt cried out in pleasure, breaking the kiss.

 

“Harder,” she breathed.

 

Matt grunted and held onto Stella’s hips, and she slid one arm around his shoulder, holding on to the nape of his neck while her other arm supported her weight behind her on the table. They sighed and moaned into each other's mouths as he increased the speed of his thrusts. Stella moaned again, a little louder this time, and for a moment she covered her mouth with her hand, looking a little startled. It seemed to him that Stella might not usually be very vocal between the sheets, at least not used to the level of volume that her moans consisted of now, and it made him change the angle of his pumping movements. She arched her back, obviously liking this new spot he was hitting, and grinded her clit against his pubic bone.

 

“Harder, harder!” Stella whimpered and Matt was very eager to comply.

 

They accidentally knocked over a vase as they were now frantically fucking on a table; oblivious to the fact that the flood of the water caused the fresh flowers to glide and fall to the floor.  
Not only did Matt become completely unaware of their surroundings, all thoughts about consequences he casually warded off. She felt way too good, tasted and smelled so good that he couldn't help himself but crave even more closeness to her. He was close and so was she, he could tell. She settled her teeth in her lower lip, trying to bite back her loud, high-pitched, moans again but couldn't help but cry out as her second orgasm of that night shuttered through her body. Her walls massaged his thick cock, her toes curled into fixed points and her legs were shaking. He could have come from just the sight of her in that moment and so he did, emptying himself inside her as she tried to catch her breath. Matt breathed heavily against Stella's neck, who was now a boneless heap in his arms as he slowly but surely came down from his own high.

 

"Are you ok, Stella?" He asked as she still lay against his chest like jelly on a plate.

 

"Hmmm. Yes."

 

Before she tried to move, he lifted her up in his arms. "What are you doing?" she whispered with a confused look on her face.

 

"Carrying you to bed, because I think you need to get some sleep."

 

He laid her down on the mattress and covered her naked and exhausted body with the duvet, before turning back to the table to cover his own with his strewn around clothes.

 

"I'll see myself out," He said as he kissed her almost-sleeping form goodnight.

 

"Goodnight." She returned sleepily.

 

Before he opened the front door to leave, he walks over to the kitchen as a handwritten note taped onto the refrigerator has caught his attention.

 

_To find him, he who is my family, my everything, is like finding life. To rediscover our loving flow, like the oxygen in our lungs is the rebirth of us. In whatever way it comes, I will be with you. Be heavy my breath as you lay still with me. I want to feel safe again. I want to come home._

 

He doesn't know what it means to her, if she has written it herself or gets inspired by poets, but he thinks it's beautiful either way and a little sad too. As he is about to close the door behind him, he looks at her again. Matt realizes he feels both alive and quilty now that his mind isn't a pure fog of intoxication anymore. He loved every second of tonight, but what the fuck has he done!?


End file.
